Falx Meningioma. It's nice to meet you. I'm Porter and you're residing in my brain. You're like this little ball of tension in my frontal cortex, right near that important blood vessel? The one that's making the doctors nervous about surgery? Not that they'll say it to me, but I can tell. I can read them; maybe that's a gift you've given me. Lately you've been taking away my memory. I can't focus and there's bits that seem to just slip away. Like last night, I fed the dogs, but I cannot recall doing it. Will weed make you happy? If I smoke a lot, can you cut out the pounding? Maybe I should give you a name, considering you're such a big part of my life. Earl. Because all I can think about when I think of you is that one song my mom used to listen to all the time: "Cause Earl had to die. Na nanana na na naaaa. Goodbye Earl, give me a break!" But then also, "Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl" (also me?)
